16 Sep 2018, 19:41
Dark and Early.
{June 22, 2017. 12:13 A.M. Evans Residence. Tenbury, England.}
In a quaint town just minutes from Birmingham, there lay the greatest silence. Shaking silence. Stunning silence. Pathetic, pleading silence, wishing for a cricket to cry out in the night and distract the world from its peaceful motives. It was dark, and it was early.
The roads wound around mindlessly without any tug of direction or any flash of a vehicle. No footsteps echoed, no jumping of fences nor breaking of windows. The night was serene; the night held the perfect illusion of infallibility.
And in a lowly upper-floor bedroom, there lied a chestnut-haired boy, clutching his pillow and staring out the window, wishing there was simply any other way she could return to his life. His pillow was sopping and he bit his narrow lip, digging into it until he could accurately capture the pain he was feeling at only eleven.
Here begins the story of Anatole Evans.
Rapping echoed on his wooden door, followed by a sweet, demonic voice. "Anatole? Anatole, sweetie?"
It was her - his mother. Amanda Evans. A charming, dark-locked woman with more passion for her son than her spouse could comprehend. A love for her only child that surpassed her love for her job, almost, if not equally rare. The toil of the day set into her wrinkles as she rested her palm on the doorknob, impatient for the moment she could open it and see the most important young man in her life. Anatole. The sunrise. A year older, yesterday. He had grown up before she could press pause.
A low, gruff grumble came from under the covers. The boy dug his face into the comforter, pressing it into the mattress with his small, wimpy hands. He clenched his eyes shut, whispering a silent prayer that she would depart without a single word.
"Anatole, please. You can't fool me!" Her snicker sounded desperate. Couldn't he just let her in? "You left your light on. It shows through the crevice at the bottom." She pressed her teeth together, whispering her silent prayer to her son. Her forehead tapped the door and she shut her eyes, her palm sliding down the worn wood. "Please, Anatole. May I come in?"
"No," the child spat, muffled and muted.
The woman's face grew pale. He had told her...no? No, she couldn't come in. No, she couldn't help, like she had always wished to. No. "I...I can't come in?" Her voice grew raspy and hoarse with every word she spoke. "No...?" She took a breath, straightening her posture. This was a courtroom, yet she out of all were on trial. She could envision her, pinned to the stand. Her son - her poor, desperate son - had accused her of an unspeakable act. And on the boy's birthday! She tensed up on the handle, inhaling once more and plotting her next move. It was dark, and it was early.
"Anatole, I'm coming in. Three...two...one." Amanda's strained hand pressed on the handle, unlatching the door, which swung open to reveal an uncomfortable, sweaty lump buried under bedsheets.
The silence returned as the mother stared at the blob on the mattress, cloaked in that illusion of comfort and safety, when in fact, he was miserable. What had she done? How could she have sent her boy into such a tragedy, such a tearing, trashed, terrible...lump. Why had this social butterfly fled back into his cocoon, retreated to his cave and reverted to fetal, wishing this day never would come?
Why...did it matter?
The mother inched closer to the son, rampaging through the piles of clothes and various belongings that held the stench of friendship and amusement, gripping the edges of his covers, and ripping them off like the wild beast she was. In the remains of the misery lay that same chestnut-haired boy, teary-eyed and cold in his cozy pajamas and with his comforting night light. It was dark, it was early, and the boy couldn't sleep.
"Anatole...oh, sweetie..." Her hand rubbed his head, releasing the trigger in his dangerous mind to carefully uncurl. His face rested away from her. "Shh...it's okay...it's okay."
"No," the boy blurted out of nowhere, "it isn't okay."
"I...it isn't okay?" Amanda took a slow breath. Of course, it should have been okay. It was only a nanny, nothing more. "No, no, Anatole. Please...you're alright. I promise. I promise we will find you a new one...just like her...if not, even better." Her hand kept curling around his hair, rubbing his back. It could have easily been a breeze. Nothing really. It simply could have been forgotten. But when he told her the truth, that's where Amanda Evans bit her lip. "Why isn't it okay? Can you tell me how you feel?"
His back flattened out and he plopped down on the other side of the bed. "You can't...you can't find another one like her, Mom. You can't." His voice grew low and whispery. "She was un...un...what's the word. Understanding. Yeah..." His eyes glared at the ceiling. Looking at the woman who took her away from him could have hit him even harder. "She...she was trustworthy. I could talk to her...and she'd talk right back. She'd always be there...and...yeah. She did a lot." But he forced himself to look. "Please, stop touching my hair. It's weird."
Like a magnet, Amanda's negative hand repelled from the negative boy. "Sorry. I didn't know you didn't like that. Please, continue."
"Well...she was easy. She was so....so...great. And it's hard to imagine not waking up to her...you know." His hands were clasped on his chest. "I...the memories won't fade anytime soon..."
"But Anatole...I'm here now. Don't you like me?"
His inhaling was shaky. "I...well..." Amanda took that as a no. Usually, when someone held onto a note that long, it meant a confirmation of her instincts. He didn't like her. He loved the other woman. The false mother. The nanny. "It's...something I can't answer."
"Oh, Anatole..."
"School is just...hard to imagine. I can't see her, I can't talk to her...I can't do anything...right? That's what you meant, isn't it?" He pulled the covers up to his shoulder, turning away again. "I don't like that. Not one bit. I want to see her...I want to talk to her...I want to joke with her...but I can't anymore? She's...not there."
She's not there. And why wasn't she there? Because she kept secrets. She never informed them of one of the biggest things. She didn't cooperate. "Anatole. Things just...didn't work out. She said that she would've stayed if she could, but things just didn't work out. She didn't tell us what we needed to hear. Does that make sense?"
Anatole's ears were closed. "Stop. Stop, please...I...just. I'll miss her...you know? It's hard."
"I know...I know. I could easily go on and on about how I felt just like you did when I was younger. I've had times like that too...it's just something that happens. Things don't work out in your favor, and you just have to let things go. I know it's hard, but life goes on." She clutched the bundle of Anatole in the cloth, kissing him on the head. "It's late, Ana. Sleep, please. We'll talk about this in the morning with a fresher mind." She smiled feebly, getting up and approaching the door. For all she knew, Anatole could have been asleep already, with her back to her.
Her hand touched the door again as she turned off his night light, leaving the room as black as pitch, except for the sliver of light in the doorway where she stood. He was peaceful...in that same peaceful silence as the rest of the world. He was hurting, but peaceful. Patricia would've liked that. She would have easily said the same to him.
And there the boy's mother stood, hearing the childish uncontrolled snores of her only son. He was a year older now, and sooner than later, he would be snatched from her by boarding school and imminent adulthood. It had gone by too fast. She needed all the time she had.
"Goodnight, Anatole," she whispered, shutting the door and inching her way back to her room, snuggling in beside Martin, her husband. He didn't know how the boy felt, but she would tell him. She would tell those she trusted. She would spread the word to her boss. She needed some time off. Anatole needed all the love she could give. All the time she could take had to belong to him, the most important little boy in her life.
It was dark, and it was early.
And the world was at peace.
And the world was at peace.